


Truco

by senoritablack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gabriel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 21:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20443076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senoritablack/pseuds/senoritablack
Summary: A cliche argument w/ a twist.





	Truco

Pro tip: if you’ve seem to have said the wrong thing to the object of your affections, make sure that all dense objects are not within reach of their ornery little hands. _Don’t_ ask what you did wrong, _do _apologize, and _do_ recall every trick primary school games of dodgeball had taught you.

Again, with special emphasis, and he can’t stress it enough—pray it be _little_ hands and that you have the good sense to just _move_ the damn dense bits. Should your beau be more of a meek individual, you might have the time to get away, or better, not struck at all. Should you move that iron replica of the Death Star a few meters into the next room before they have time to work themselves into a catapult of fury, and replace it with a Bob’s Burgers plushy, maybe the blow wouldn’t be as painful.

As it happens, it was just not the case for Gabriel. Learn from him.

Sam is livid. He’d seemingly grew in all angles when he hit his second puberty and he’s got that back story angst that wills his body to literally run toward a peace of mind. All to say, he’s a ripped and salty S.O.B. who’s got all the makings of a pro-javelin thrower. So, he’s got Sam with his big ole, struggle-paws and gigantic tome on the Fae, and a sore spot on his shoulder that is now purpling. He watches it with fascination before remembering that, _oh yeah_, he’s not human.

He’s said something wrong?(Guess so.) Has his mouth betrayed before? (Might have.) But he’s like, twenty-percent sure that he, like, didn’t say anything wrong? (This time.)

He winces when Sam glares at him over the salad that he’s eating. Passive-Aggressively chewing on romaine and chicken breast while looking murderous and sexy is a talent honed only by Sam, he’s sure.

“You gunna make me _Jeopardy_ this thing or?” Gabriel mumbles.

“S’just like you to—“

“‘Things that make Sam angry’ for three-hundred, Bob.”

“—Joke.”

So, it wasn’t the most clever thing he’s said. Sam leaves the table with a particularly hateful stab into a sad and drying piece of chicken. Gabriel looks over to it and apologizes, because that was totally his bad and points out that, _well, it can’t get any deader. _Then he has the right mind to follow Sam. They end up in their bedroom.

“Oh, come on! Seriously? What’s up? What did I dooooo?”

“And the fact that…”

Gabriel looks around just to make sure that there isn’t anyone else Sam’s in a fight with. He really ought to finish his sentence or Gabriel’s going to have to actually read his mind. He knows that Sam hates that. Telling by the way he’s rolled back the covers, the intrusion would only heighten the already tower high tensions. He tries the stupidly slow human way and uses his words.

“Okay,” Gabriel starts. He takes a deep breath, and then all at once relents.

“I recognize that I’ve pissed you off and I’m sorry for hurting you. But can’t you at least tell me what it is so this is not some blanket, half-assed apology that you’re going to stew on for months and use later as leverage?”

“I don’t do that.”Sam argues.

Gabriel snaps a small notebook into existence and looks over a few instances from the past. They’re dated—key coded and written in blocked lettering.

“That’s petty, even for you.” Sam says, unimpressed.

“No, that’s saving my Heiny.”

“You know what? Get out, man, just get the hell out.”

“You’re kidding? You’re like, actually joking right now? This is the climax of some shitty RomCom? If so, save the montage of us mutually pining!”

“Go.” Sam sighs. Gabriel gapes after him.

“Sam? You’ve never kicked me out of bed before!”

“You said you’d try anything once.”

Sam doesn’t look him in the eye. Gabriel takes it as his cue to leave, setting out for the room in the bunker he used to stay in before they quit calling themselves bunker buddies (okay, he was alone in using the moniker), and started calling themselves bunker boyfriends (again, he was alone in this). He hears the shuffling of sheets and pillows, Sam settling himself into their bed, but does not look back. He’s just to the door when Sam starts laughing. Gabriel turns around because, surely the hell not. But yeah, Sam is red with fucking glee.

“You dick.” Gabriel says.

“Your face!”

“Oh, I’m going to murder you.”

“In the ‘old-timey’ sense?” Sam asks innocently. Gabriel wants to flick him on the nose.

“No, in the ‘with my own hands’ sense, you dad-damned dick!”

Gabriel climbs into the bed, silently daring Sam to challenge him. Sam doesn’t.

“You love me.” Sam says with a giggle far too high for a grown man of 30.

“This is _thee worst_ anniversary present you could have gotten me, bee-tee-dubs. I cooked a three-course dinner for you. Think maybe, hm, I got the shorter end?”

“Nope.” Sam smiles.

“Perfect, okay. S’long as you’re sure, Sam.” Gabriel crosses his arm and contemplates the ceiling and his whole damn relationship.

“Dude, don’t tell me you’re mad that I _pretended_ to be mad? If anyone would appreciate a trick, it’d be you.”

Gabriel considers being angry. However, he’s too relieved. And if he were honest, he just wants to have a good rest of the night. He opts for the high road. He tries on a cheeky grin to boot.

“Not angry, disappointed. Hoped for some aggressive, horizontal Bachata, if ya know what I mean?”

“Well, it’s only 8pm. You’ve got plenty of time to piss me off.”

“Sam.” Gabriel warns.

He lets out a grunt as a familiar weight squeezes the hell out of him. Sam smirks down at him and kisses the corner of Gabriel’s frowning mouth.

“Kidding.”


End file.
